


Small Confessions

by siriuslydraco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslydraco/pseuds/siriuslydraco
Summary: Sansa doesn't need his help, but Jaime won't stop until she's safe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Jansa story (is that even what we call it? lol)  
> I've officially jumped aboard the Jaime x Sansa train because of all those amazing fics I've been indulging in these past few days. It's not for everyone but I hope I can contribute to this ship so enjoy!

The neon lights are a welcome as Sansa rounds the corner, the flashing yellow and red so different from the darkness she had been enveloped in for so long. The streets are empty, save for a few cars that drive by on the rain spattered road, the cold droplets splashing against her bare thighs every time one of them drives into a puddle. The feeling is almost nice, it reminds her that she's still alive. She folds her arms around herself when a sudden chill runs down her spine, but it's no use, the wet clothes that cling to her back don't give her much warmth. It had rained all afternoon and she had walked in most of it. 

The bruises that Petyr had left on her thighs still burn like his fingers were gripping them now, and her body wracks with another shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. Sometimes he doesn't look at the girls that work for him, but he's taken a specific interest in Sansa that she dislikes more than anything her life has given her. She feels filthy and impure and used and maybe that's why she decided to walk in the rain for so long, maybe it washed away some of her sin. 

She passes a man in the street as she makes her way closer to those flashing lights, and she cringes when he looks at her. The strangers look is no more than a passing glance at a fellow pedestrian but she can't help but feel that he knows what she is, that she's the lowest of all. She keeps her head down and walks with her bruised thighs. Petyr can't pleasure her, no man ever could, but at least he doesn't hit her like some of the other men do. He's the gentlest snake in the pit, the one that bites the least. 

She's closer now, and the yellow and red sign of the tiny diner lights the puddles that she steps into on the dipping pavement, and she almost feels warmer already. It has the worst coffee in all of town and has probably been opened since the fifties but she doesn't care, and a part of her knows it's because _he_ might be here. And maybe he only comes here because she does. It's a small hope that both excites and infuriates her. She both hates and loves him. 

She opens the door and it rings softly as it hits off the swinging bell but no one pays her any mind as she enters, all except the plump woman behind the counter. She smiles a smile that's carved with pity, and her eyes shine like a mother looking at their child, Sansa swallows a lump of anger. She hates how people look at her, like she's the saddest thing and that she needs their sorry stares and pitiful smiles. 

"A coffee please" Sansa's mouth is dry when she speaks and she finds it aches with the memory of what Petyr made her do earlier. Even talking makes her feel disgusting.

The diner woman just nods her head and gives her a smile as she pours her the coffee, and Sansa stands transfixed as the dark brown liquid falls into the porcelain cup. She's not aware that Jaime Lannister sits in the furthest booth, his green eyes watching her. 

She hadn't been here in a while, and Jaime had begun to get restless and worried about her, a thought that always seemed to shock him no matter how many times he felt it. His heart swells in his chest when she looks his way, and he can almost see the ghost of a smile on her face. That makes him feel better than anything, that he can make her feel happy even for the faintest of moments. She starts to walk his way like she does most nights when she's here and her eyes fall downwards as she strolls over, avoiding the gaze of the other customers. But he can't take his eyes off of her. 

She's graceful and willowy, and autumn shines in her hair and spring lights up her cheeks and lips with a cherry shade. But she's thinner than last time he saw her, and her legs that are bare underneath a black tight dress are covered in purple and green splotches that can only be bruises. He tries to ignore the one on her jaw, but his fists clench under the table as he eyes it. The badge that's strapped to his pants burns like fire against his skin. 

She's cautious as she looks up, and her fingers fidget nervously around the cup she holds. It's almost like she's afraid he'll reject her each time, even though he never could, and she always has to ask like it's not something they regularly do. His eyes meet hers, and the deepest forest clash with the stormiest sea, and Jaime is glad that she doesn't look so broken when she looks at him. 

"Can I sit down, Detective Lannister?" Sansa's voice reminds him of those fairytales and songs he often heard as a child. Her voice is a summers breeze and is more childlike than Jaime wants it to be. She's young, perhaps too young for him to find her beautiful, but he's broken too so he doesn't care. 

"Of course" he answers her, running a hand through his long golden hair. He wanted to tell her how she doesn't have to ask, how she'll always be allowed be near him, but of course he holds it back as she sits down across from him. "And Sansa how many times do I have to tell you to call me Jaime?" he adds with a smile "you don't have to call me Detective Lannister all the time" 

"Force of habit" she apologises, blowing on her coffee with trembling lips. 

"You haven't been around here for a while" he comments while watching her intensely. Her hands begin to tremble as she tries to open a sugar packet, and he takes it from her and opens it in one movement. Her jaw tightens defiantly and he forces himself not to sigh, she hates help of any kind, and he always gives it to her. 

"I was busy" is her response and he notices she pulls her red hair over to one side of her face, but he's already seen. Perhaps she doesn't know that he notices everything about her, he has ever since the first time he saw her in the hospital. He and his partner Brienne had been called because a girl had been found in an alleyway, lying in her own blood. At first he had thought she must be dead while hearing the injuries she'd received but he'd later learned she was alive and in hospital. 

They'd interviewed her, and he had learned her name was Sansa, the prettiest name he'd ever heard before and had found that he couldn't just leave her. He needed to know her, to help her. He monitored her, constantly followed her, looked out for her name in case files and every time a dead working girl was found he prayed it was never her. 

"Did it have something to do with that bruise on your face?" Jaime asks her, and her eyes lift to his with an icy spark. Her jaw is stiff as she clenches it and the purple mark burns into his eyes like acid. He swallows that same burn as bile rises in his throat at the thought of the slimy pimp that controls the very girl he sits across from "was it Petyr?"

"It wasn't Petyr" Sansa mutters and her fingers rise to ghost along the poppy colored splotch on her face. She hadn't been allowed to work until it had gone down, and in a way she was glad that she had been hit, and sometimes she welcomed the violence more than strange hands all over her body. 

"Then who?" Jaime asks her, and she grows irritated. _Why does he care so much?_ She was nothing to him, just a wrecked girl who he was trying to keep off the streets. Just a violent case he had once investigated. She doesn't understand how he could care, he was a respected member of the police force and she was....nothing. 

"I don't remember" she tells him, beating her fingers against the side of her cup "I don't learn their names if I don't have to. It's easier that way". He knows who she means, and something carnal, something savage rises up inside him. In that moment he wants to kill, he wants to murder someone for all the injustice she's ever faced. He feels sick as he imagines old and sweaty men thrusting inside her as she lays limp and vacant underneath them, and strong men hitting her because it gets them off. She's an object to so many, but to him she's almost everything. 

"How can it be easy?" Jaime asks with a cut to his tone, and she flinches at it. He hates himself in that moment. 

"It's not easy. But it's my life, I fell into this and there's no way out for me, so don't think this is easy because it's not" she defends herself defiantly. Always so defiant, and always so defeated. He can see it in her eyes as she looks at him, that desperation for it all to end but she's too proud and stubborn to admit it. 

"It doesn't have to be your life, I know this protection program that can -" 

"Please just stop, alright? I didn't come here for help" she tells him with a glare and he glares right back. Those green and gold eyes burning with intensity. Sansa wants to drown in them, she wants to fall into them and never come out but she knows she can't. She's nothing, she's worthless and low and her life is one huge mess that she's no idea how she ended up in. Maybe it's because everyone she ever loved is dead, and maybe it's because she's dead too. She needed money and for a time it made her feel alive, but then Petyr had claimed her as one of his girls and now she was used and abused in every way. Maybe she stays because Margaery's dead face haunts her nightmares and she doesn't want to end up like her, like one of the girls that try to get out. 

Jaime knows the dead face too, he tried to solve the young Tyrell girls murder and it's one of the reasons why he needs to see Sansa so much, because in his nightmares Margaery's face turns into a Starks. He needs to know she's alive, but he can tell as he looks at her now that she's barely living. 

"Then why do you come?" he challenges her with the question, and for a moment she says nothing. He's a fool for thinking that she'll ever say it, because she won't. But he knows there's something in her eyes when she looks at him, and there's a reason why she comes back here. He knows why _he_ does it, why he needs to see her so often but he never tells her, because he's also too stubborn. 

She looks into his eyes now, and she makes him feel suffocated as her blue depths drown him in a blanket of ice. He shivers where he sits but he can't look away, he can't bear to come back to the surface. Something dims in the blue of her eyes, and it screams defeat and he's glad when he sees it, because it reminds him of all those prisoners he's interrogated that are on the verge of a confession. 

"Because of you" are the words she chooses to say and Sansa doesn't even believe that she's said them. But she doesn't look away from him nevertheless. She just sits staring at his beautiful face and wonders when exactly she fell in love with him. 

She's too young for him, only twenty years old and she can tell by the grey in his stubble and the soft wrinkles around his eyes that he's old enough to be her father. He's a cop, she sells what little innocence she has left and she knows they could never be together. But she loves him all the same, and she knows she has for a long time now. Perhaps since the first time she sat with him here in this diner. _Because of you_. The words swim around in her mind and she can see that they're swimming in his too by the look in his eyes. There's a conflict there, and she can see it plainly. Maybe he wants her just as much as she wants him, and maybe she'll never know. 

"Why do you come here?" she boldly asks with a shake in her tone.

"Because of you" he repeats her words back to her in a soft whisper, partly because he wants to validate that she actually said them, and also because he wants her to know why he does what he does. 

She never excepts his help, only his conversation that he gives her most nights in this very booth, but she accepts those words with a swelling heart and a twinkle in her eyes he's sure he's never seen before. He feels a shift under his heart where a couple of his broken pieces knit themselves together at the sight of her soft smile, and all his failed attempts to save her don't matter. It's almost like he _has_ saved her with those three small words. 

It's a small confession on both parts, and he would like to dig deeper and know what she truly feels but he leaves it alone for now and just sits across from her. She drinks her coffee and he continues to stare at her in silence but that's how most of their nights go. He doesn't mention helping her again, but maybe tomorrow he might bring it up and maybe some day she might accept it, but for now he forgets what they both are and tries to imagine that they don't have any demons lurking in the shadows of their mind. She's just Sansa, and he's just Jaime. 

"I have to go" Sansa says after the clock on the wall says a minute past one, and he feels something inside himself shrivel at her impending disappearance. She rises from the leather booth and throws on her denim jacket. It's still damp and so is her hair, but she doesn't seem to mind as she throws it on her body. 

"Will you come back tomorrow?" he finds himself asking as he too gets up from his seat. She looks up at him with eyes that study his face closely, or maybe she's trying to remember every line of it to help her when she can't see him. 

"Maybe" she attempts a smile, and he finds solace in her maybe, and a hope of seeing her again. She walks away from him then, the bruises on the back of her thighs shining more than the neon lights outside. They remind him of who she is, of what she is, and the badge that rests beside his hip reminds him of what he is. But he can't help it, she's a damsel and he's a knight and he needs to save her. 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I could get this done in two parts but of course I couldn't lol! So it'll probably be three parts instead, but hope you enjoy!

It rains again one night, and Sansa finds herself wandering. There's a new bruise that throbs on her left shoulder and colors all the way down her back, and it stings as the rain pelts against her skin. She doesn't care though, and just keeps walking through the heaviest downpour she's seen in weeks. But she likes the rain, and she gladly takes the freezing droplets on her skin like a sinner would accept holy water. She needs the purification, she needs the guilt to wash away. It doesn't however, erase the memories. 

Petyr had handed her over to one of his most brutal clients that had specifically requested a natural redhead, and she had trembled with fear as he had undressed her. He hadn't liked that. He hadn't liked how she wouldn't meet his eyes or kiss him back so he had bent her over and hit her with his belt, and after that Petyr had hit her for disrespecting Mr Trant. She had felt stupid afterwards, for ever believing that Petyr wasn't the violent type, but tonight he'd shown that as plain as day. 

It's almost like her feet know where she wants to go because her mind certainly doesn't. Her mind is elsewhere, focused on the sting of belt buckles and the sharp pain of teeth biting soft skin. She isn't sure if she's crying or if the moisture running down her face is just the rain. But she carries on until she sees the puddles are now alight with yellow and red, the neon sign above the diner like a beacon in the dark. But she doesn't go inside. She can't make herself do it. 

She had last seen Jaime Lannister almost two weeks ago, and she was trying to make it to three. She stands by the side of the road, a car splashing her as it drives by but all she does is grit her teeth as the mud splashes the back of her legs. Her hood is up and the wet tendrils of her red hair kiss her face and tickle her, she pushes it away from her eyes in frustration, and then she sees him. All golden lines, and sharp angles as he sits in his usual booth down the back. But instead of looking at him from inside like she normally does, she watches him through the rain spattered window with eyes that are beginning to view the world blurry. She watches as he stares at his watch and with the way his eyes dart to it again and again make her believe it's not the first time he's looked at it since arriving. 

He looks out the window and she swiftly ducks into the shadows beside an alleyway and his eyes skim over her like she isn't even there, but she knows to him she's not there, he can't see her with the veil of darkness around her. She wonders then how he ever saw her at all. There's always darkness around her. 

She loves him, she knows. She knows it as sure as she knows the rain is kissing her bruises as soft as a lover. But she also knows it's a silly thing to think, a thing that will never be consummated and reciprocated like she wants it to. How could he love her back? She's been used by so many men and she's cried too many tears and gained too many scars. He's Jaime Lannister, the most decorated police officer in the county and someone who is good and honorable and just. The light in the diner is dull but it lights him up in just the right way, and suddenly she's reminded of princes in fairy tales, the one's she must have believed in some time in her life. He's crowned in gold and beauty, and she remembers just how it feels to be under the weight of his green gaze. 

But he looks tired, she notices as she stares, and it must have been a while since he's shaved since a dark blonde stubble thickly covers his handsome face. He looks away then, his eyes once again going to his watch and then she watches as he rises from his chair. Panic sets in and she contemplates running towards him and announcing that she's been held up these couple of weeks, or that she's been busy and that she's here now but she stays where she is and lets him leave. 

_I love you. I'm here. I love you_. She wants to tell him, but she'll never find the courage to make herself open up like that. No, she never will, she never was good at that and now she's even worse. He walks across the road and she slinks deeper into the shadows as he goes by, her heartbeat picking up with his closeness. But deep down, no matter how much it hurts, Sansa knows it's no use wanting him and thinking of him. It can never be. 

He's a detective, she's unworthy and he pities her, that's why he's stayed so long in this thing that she's made herself believe is a friendship. 

She'll never know the love of a man, she'll never come home to warm arms and soft kisses. She gets paid to pleasure, and she gets hit if she does something wrong or sometimes it's because she does something right. Jaime Lannister was a fantasy, someone who gave her hope for a short while but he doesn't belong to her and she finds herself sinking to the ground as she cries, and she prays that the rain might wash away his memory this time. 

* * *

 The sound of gun fire and bullets hitting the ground sounds the same as Debussy's Clair De Lune to Jaime Lannister's ears. It's beautiful and devastating all at once and it reminds him of his young years he spent in the military, and those police chases and gun fights that happened in the good days. The cardboard target at the end of the practice room is riddled with holes and it wavers with the force of the bullets that hit it. Jaime's finger aches every time he pulls the trigger and finds that he's probably spent over three hours shooting at it and now his hands have started to ache. He doesn't care for the pain, he doesn't care about anything. 

The only thing he had truly cared for has all but disappeared and he finds he's more riddled with holes than the target. There are holes in his heart and soul that nothing can patch up. 

_Sansa_. His mind sighs the name and his finger slams the trigger back with force. The last bullet in his hand gun spills to the floor in a metallic crash and he lets his shoulders rest from the position they've been in for so long. He eyes the target with narrowed eyes and goes to turn and fetch more bullets from the cabinet behind him; it's one of the perks of being a cop, he can stay here and release as much anger as he wants all night long. He loads the gun with long trembling fingers and he lets his mind wander back to red hair and bright blue eyes. Eyes so full of sadness and one's he hasn't looked upon in weeks. 

The absence of the young girl has taken a toll on Jaime that he's almost afraid to admit, but his heart doesn't let him forget it, nor does his mind as it brings up memories of her almost every waking second. He's tried to get her out of his head, to stop worrying about her and to stop making himself go to that god forsaken diner every night. But she never shows up, and his hope never relinquishes. 

He will not give up on her. He won't stop trying to save her if he can. 

He turns around to face the target once more but instead of seeing a wide black circle with bullet holes all over, he sees the tall and blonde frame of his partner. If one had looked quickly at her, they would have thought she was a man. But the soft curls in her hair and the perfectly tailored suit are the only give away that she's a woman, and Jaime sighs heavily when he sees her. 

"Brienne" he greets, standing to face the target with his back to her. He can feel the weight of her blue eyed gaze on his back and he hates it "I thought you would've gone home by now, surely that great brute of a husband will be missing you at this hour". He can practically feel her eyes rolling. 

"Tormund can miss me for a few hours, I'm sure he'll survive" she tells him "and for your information I was trying to get some last minute paperwork done, since you've forgotten to do all of yours" 

"I've been busy lately" he gives a quick shrug and her sigh is drowned out by the downpour of bullets. One of them misses and flies at the wall and so does the next one, which makes him furious at himself. 

"You've been distant lately" Brienne quips, stepping closer beside him and grabbing the gun from his hands before he can reload. He gives her a look that resembles a child that's favorite toy has been taken away. If they were in different circumstances Brienne might have smiled. 

"I have not. I've been here" Jaime defends, avoiding looking into her blue eyes. Eyes like the sea, but not as sad as the sky on a rainy day. Not like Sansa's. His stomach turns at the thought of her and he begins to think he'll never stop thinking of her. 

"Physically yes, but I feel sometimes that you go too deep into your mind to come out. You know you can talk to me about anything right? We're partners Jaime not strangers" there's a pleading tone in her voice, and Jaime feels guilty for making her worry about him so much. He knows she loves him like the brother she never had, and he loves her like the sister he wished that he would've had. There's a bond there that most of the detectives in their department lack, but he still can't bring himself to say the words. 

"Nothing is wrong" is what he chooses to say, his voice low and careful but her eyes narrow and one hand rests on one of her wide hips. 

"Is it anything to do with Sansa Stark?" her words are like a slap to the face, and he tries so hard not to recoil but he can't help it. He winces loudly and his eyes shut. She was his secret for so long, and in a way not talking about her to anyone made it almost alright, but now that Brienne has said her name has made it seem that much realer. 

"What?" he stutters unconvincingly and he hates the sudden rush of pity that floods Brienne's expression. 

"I'm a detective, stupid. Do you think you couldn't hide from me? And beside's I found you asleep in your office two nights in a row and two of those nights you were reading her case files. Why? What is it about her that makes you this way?" 

_Shit_ , Jaime thinks. She really is good at what she does.How could she be so clued in and he so clueless? Or maybe the word was careless. That did sound more like him. He tries to make up some excuse, but most of them he knows she'll see right through, but he's afraid of the truth. He's terrified of it, but he knows Brienne is able to wheedle confessions from the toughest of criminals and he's no different. Her eyes bore into his face, brilliantly beautiful and patient and he begins to wonder how anyone _could_ lie to her. He thinks it's impossible so he chooses against it. He sags against the wall and breathes out the weight of his worries in one heavy sigh. 

"I can't leave her alone, Brienne. What happened to her haunts me. What might happen to her haunts me and I just can't leave her alone. I just can't" his words are repeated and desperate and Brienne is filled with a sudden worry that her friend is in much deeper than she thought. 

"Look I know it's hard when something goes unsolved, and I know that poor girl got a terrible beating and could've ended up like that Tyrell girl. But she didn't and you don't need to blame yourself. You don't need to carry that guilt" she tries to comfort him but he just shakes his head, soft golden waves falling into emerald eyes. 

"It's not that, it's not guilt. Well partly but it's not all of it" he says, his eyes dragging to hers. 

"Then what?" she asks him, stepping closer to him and feeling her curiosity and concern trickle through her veins. 

"I meet her almost every night at that diner across town. We have coffee and we talk, and she always refuses my help. But I can't stop myself from wanting to help her because I...." he pauses and weighs his words on his tongue, swallowing them down roughly. No, he thinks, I won't say that, not out loud, not when I won't even confess it to myself "because I care about her" 

"Jaime what happened to this girl was awful, what happens to all these girls is awful but she's a prostitute and -" 

"Don't call her that" he growls low, feeling acid rise in his throat at the sound of that word. He pushes himself away from the wall and turns his back on her as he begins rearranging the many guns hanging in the cabinet. He feels Brienne follow him. Of course, he thinks, of course she won't relent. 

"But that's what she is" her voice is soft, and he knows there's no sense of condescending or hurt in it but he feels the sting nonetheless. It is what Sansa is, he knows what she sells to other men but he can't help but imagine her as something else. Something good and clean and something that will make her happy. He can't help but want that for her. 

"I need to be alone" he tells her, an edge to his voice that shows exactly how tired he is and it's replied with a sigh from the hulking blonde behind him. She doesn't say anything and he wonders if she's already left but a few moments later he feels the softness of her hand on his back. 

"You need to talk, you know where I am" and then she's gone as if she never came, and he's alone again. He stands there in silence for a few moments before he picks up a gun and loads the golden bullets in one by one. 

He's angry as he pulls the trigger, and he finds it easier to shoot if he pretends the target is Petyr Baelish. 

 

 


End file.
